Fiction · Just stories · Thoughts


She looked paler and paler with every day that went by.

“She should get a little tan, the sun is warm today.” They would say. But she stayed in the shade, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for the day to end. And then for the next to come.

She sat in her grey chair, staring at her grey wall, with a paintbrush and a rainbow can of paint on her lap. Waiting for the right time to come. She smiled when a spider crawled by, or when a butterfly paused on the cracked up grey window frame. Time was running out, she could feel it.

Time was running out, and it was a relief. She knew she had a mayfly destiny. Live one day, and be forgotten the next… No bitterness, no regret.

He entered the room in silence, without a warning.

“I brought some honey.” he said, “honey never goes bad.”

He walked to her, took the paintbrush from her hand, dipped it in paint and drew a smiley face on the grey wall, for her to stare at.

“The street’s noises shouldn’t bother you anymore. Never more. Nevermore.”  He whispered to her ear.

She closed her eyes to recall the memory of long lost unkissed lips and sighed. When she looked again, he was nowhere to be found.

A black feather lay on the floor.

“Nevermore” she murmured back.






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